One of the few joys of road biking is dominating the bike lane — easily passing runners, beach cruisers and mountain bikes.
I’ve spent thousands on a good bike. Hundreds on shoes and clothes. I spent $1.29 on a snickers bar that fucked up a perfectly good ride.
I was struggling to get up Las Sendas when these four 70-something, fat ass, snowbirds from Michigan floated past me like they were riding on a cloud.
I don’t need no IQ test to tell how stupid people think I am. I just need the Bear to leave for a few days.
Talking shit about your “friends” on the internet should be endorsed by the American Psychological Association — it’s a great sanity check.
There are hours (never full days) when I miss being a teacher. Then the Bear tells me “how her day went” and I remember: ohh that shit sucks.
I’m hoping roosters taste exactly like chicken, because my other neighbor just got a Mother Fucking Rooster.
I must confess and probably apologize… I’m a body-size bigot.
Valentine’s Day has always sucked. Every girl in kindergarten didn’t want to be my Valentine, and 50 years later it hasn’t gotten any better.
I just recently found out that in 1987 I made the biggest mistake of my life. I got married.
Fat Bikers are hell on wheels.
We all think Freud was a fool for “penis envy”. Well, I’ve got a similar theory about the other side of the taint.
Did I tell you the Bear had a stroke?
Don’t worry it was long ago, and there are no obvious lasting effects other than (once in a while) she won’t shut up about it.
It’s January 18. The sun is shinning, but the air is cool…
Time for fucking fall in Gilbert, Arizona.
I always wanted to be a sailor — owning my own little boat.
The Bear would never let me.